Snowed In
by God of Mishief
Summary: While on a stake out, the boys and the team from the Yard get snowed in a heatless building. One must do what one must do to survive.


Sometimes being alive is worth more than pride. At least, this is what John reminds himself of as he curls up next to the sociopath in the room full of employees of the Yard. They (Lestrade) had convinced Sherlock and John to come to a stakeout. Considering the suspect was wanted for murder, and Sherlock had been so utterly bored, they had agreed to come. Now, though, they had been snowed in a tiny, one-room shack with no heat and a ridiculous amount of people who didn't get along.

"Get off my foot, Sherlock!" Anderson growls.

"As if I would willingly be touching you!" Sherlock snaps. "Your stupid might wear off."

"Says the psychopath," Donovan hisses from her perch on Anderson's lap.

"Sociopath," Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Apparently the stupid has gone airborne."

"Shut up!" John yells between clenched teeth. He clamps his hand on Sherlock's arm roughly. "You are a grown man. Act like it. Donovan! Anderson! We are a group of five people in a tiny place in the middle of nowhere with the potential to literally freeze our arses off. For once, just shut the hell up!" Anderson and Donovan glare but close their mouths. Sherlock, on the other hand, looks down at his shivering blogger.

"Are you that cold?"

"How are you not?"

"It's just transport, John."

"Well my transport is in danger of turning blue at the moment," John mutters.

"Come here," Sherlock held open his jacket to the surprise of all present. John looks at him doubtfully. "Come now, John. You are a doctor. You know the science behind shared body heat." John can't help but to accept that the detective is right. He curls up inside the long coat with his flat mate. He wraps his arms tightly around him as he realizes how warm he is. Sherlock gasps when John's hand finds a patch of bare skin near his hip. "You are freezing," he notices, hugging his friend closer. Lestrade and the others stare in amazement at this show of humanity from the supposed robot.

"I...told...you so," John tucks his chilled nose into Sherlock's warm sweater.

"If this gets any colder, we'll have to resort to basic survival skills," Lestrade mumbles from the other side of John.

"You mean...what I think you mean?" Sally squeaks.

"Yes, Sally, we are adults here," Lestrade sighs.

"I am not getting naked in front of everyone!" Anderson glares.

Sherlock is silent.

"It may...be...the only way," John says an hour and a half later. The blizzard outside was only getting worse and everyone (Sherlock, John, Donovan, Anderson, Lestrade; there were three officers in another house about a block away, facing the same difficulties they were) were all shivering so fiercely it seemed like they were having a group seizure.

"Will it make...this...easier?" Anderson tries not to bite his tongue off.

"Yes," John nods. He and Sherlock were curled together tightly.

"This is never spoken of again," Sally propositions. They all nod, including Sherlock, who could barely think it was so unbearably cold. They all strip, doing their best not to notice the others. Sherlock is seemingly on autopilot, not really noticing what is in front of him.

John can see how uncomfortable this is making the poor man. Mycroft once spoke about how sex made Sherlock uncomfortable. Sherlock disagreed. Perhaps he could speak of it in theory, but in practice, seeing the people they knew the best completely nude made him uncomfortable. Frankly, it made everyone there uncomfortable, excluding John. Being a doctor makes you unaffected by nudity the way a normal person is.

"Come here," John whispers the the consulting detective. They wrap around each other closely. Sherlock has a tendency to walk around the flat in the nude, or just in a sheet, so it was nothing John hadn't seen before; and Sherlock has walked in on John changing or in the shower enough that his bare form doesn't intimidate him.

"You okay?" he asks quietly enough that only Sher hears.

"I do not want to be here. I do not want to see these people in their basest forms."

"Sher, look at me." Blue eyes met. "It's just transport."

Sherlock nods, reason coming back. "Of course it is."

Lestrade is curled up to John's back, and Sally and Anderson are curled against each other, Sally refusing to touch 'The Freak.'

"Well, when people speak of bonding, I don't think this is what they mean," Lestrade says.

"Well I would rather do this than die,"John shrugs. After awhile, surrounded by each others bodies and covered with the layer of their clothes, everyone drifts off, excluding Sherlock.

"John," he wiggles against the body wrapped around him. His long, pale legs are entwined with the former military doctor's, his arms encircling his back. Their hips are crushed against each other, but they are pointedly ignoring that. "John, wake up," Sherlock tries again. John is still slumbering. In a last-ditch effort, Sherlock bites down on John's neck. The man startles awake, all those years of military training kicking in and causing him to tense but not make a sound. "John, I have a problem," Sherlock whispers directly into his ear. John doesn't understand at first, but then he can FEEL the problem.

"Sher," his eyes widen in surprise.

"Please keep quiet," Sherlock huffs. "This is embarrassing."

"Sherlock...why did you wake me up? What do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know. You're the doctor...get rid of it!"

"I'm not gay!"

"SHHH! Keep your voice down!"

"Sorry...sorry..."

"John, please, I know you aren't a homosexual. But please," Sherlock's eyes and deep voice are both pleading. John fights a battle within himself.

"Oh God help me. You keep quiet, understand?" Sherlock nods immediately. John, with an air of determination, takes Sherlock's hardened length into his hand. The Detective's breath hitches. "Quiet, I say," John reminds him. He works him for a while, not much heart in it, and it isn't bringing Sherlock any closer.

"John, like you mean it," Sherlock's voice rumbled in his ear. For a second, John himself stirs. He is suddenly kissing his flatmate with a passion he hadn't thought he could feel for another man. He pulls him closer, as of that were possible, and his hips are grinding against his, length moving against length. They are both holding back moans as John works both of them in his hand and Sherlock reaches around to grab John's buttock.

He doesn't notice how near he comes to touching Lestrade.

And soon both men are biting each other's shoulders, necks, anything to keep from waking the others. Their mess spills between them, and they are both panting.

Sherlock grabs his pants from where they lay over them like a small blanket along with the other clothes and use it to wip them both off.

Meanwhile, Sally and Anderson are both trying to control themselves, ignorant as to what has taken place beside them.

Lestrade is in such a deep slumber it would take a volcanic eruption to wake him.

Sherlock and John are much warmer, but still have the excuse of needed body heat to cuddle afterwards without fear that the intimacy is fueled by sentiment.

XXXX Three Weeks Later XXXX

John is getting hime from a date, the girl still with him as he walk back into the flat.

"Sherlock!" he calls out. "Come meet Mary! And be a gentleman about it."

Sherlock appears in his purple shirt and black slacks, rather than in pyjamas and his dressing gown, which John is much grateful for. Well, he would be, if the purple shirt wasn't THE purple shirt, the one that makes Sherlock look even more spectacular than usual.

"Mary," Sherlock looks her over, ignoring the hand she leaves outstretched.

"Sher..." John warns.

Sherlock just shakes his head after deducing all he could about her.

As she's about to leave, John is apologizing for his flatmate's behaviour.

"That's alright, John. I've seen his type before," Mary smiles.

"Oh I doubt you have ever met a man like Sherlock Holmes."

"Maybe not as brilliant as he is," she shakes her head. "But I have met men in love with their best friends before."

"What?" John asks. Sherlock clears his throat.

"Thank you for visiting, Mary. Goodnight."

Mary gives John a chaste peck on the cheek before walking out thw door and hailing a cab.

John turns to Sherlock.

"Sher, what...is she telling the truth...?"

Sherlock closes the gap between them quickly, kissing his John for all he was worth, telling him of every unspoken emotion between them.

"Really, John? You know me. Would I ever suffer from sentiment?"

John can't help grinning. "Yes."


End file.
